


She Had The World

by cate-lynne (catelynne)



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 13:13:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8715388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catelynne/pseuds/cate-lynne
Summary: Now that you're working with Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, you're life has gotten so much better.  After a while, you start to notice Sherlock acting strange.  What's going on?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LibertyMalfoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LibertyMalfoy/gifts).



> Anna, I'm not sure if you'll like this, but it's my first Sherlock fic since my last one, so I thought it fitting that it be for you, since you spent so much time encouraging me to write more.

I wasn’t sure when it had started exactly, but it didn’t take long for me to notice the odd way that Sherlock was acting.

Over the past few months I had grown quite close to the detective and his friend, Doctor John Watson.  They had taken me in after rescuing me from one of Moriarty’s attempts to test Sherlock and his abilities.  Since then, we had worked several cases together, solving most of them.  My life was so much better with Sherlock and John in it.   

Sherlock was everything to me.  I considered John a friend, perhaps my best friend, and knew he felt a similar way towards me.  But I couldn’t shake the feelings that I had developed for Sherlock.  I knew part of the reason that he kept me around was because I was useful to him, but I could not discern his feelings for me past that.  I wasn’t even sure he was capable of feeling anything more for me.  The only person he ever seemed to care about was John.

I felt selfish and ungrateful for wanting more from Sherlock after he had already given me so much, but I couldn’t help myself.  Every time I resolved to let go of my feelings, he would make some brilliant deduction or show off his vast intellect and I would feel my resolve crumbling.  No matter that he never showed the slightest interest in me, I was head over heels for him.

…

I noticed the odd behavior a few days ago. 

It started when Sherlock brought me a cup of tea.  John and I stared in shock as he placed the warm tea cup in my grasp.  He met my gaze for a second and I saw of flash of something like uncertainty there before he turned away and resumed his ranting about the state of Scotland Yard and it incompetence of the detectives who worked there.  I was still frozen in surprise, teacup clutched between my freezing hands.  John met my gaze with a perplexed look of his own, raising his eyebrows at the tea.  I took a cautious sip, aware that it may not be just tea.

As the warm liquid filled my mouth, I waited, testing for any sign, some lingering taste of something that wasn’t tea.  Nothing.  It was just…tea.  I swallowed and gave John a small nod, missing the slight frown on Sherlock’s face when he noticed the exchange. 

I finished the tea, thinking about that moment when my eyes had met with Sherlock’s mercurial ones.

…

The next time, it wasn’t tea.  John, Sherlock, and I were all walking back from a late night visit to a crime scene when a cold breeze caused me to shiver.  Without pausing in his lament of the fact that Anderson had been the one to meet us at the crime scene, Sherlock unwrapped his scarf from around his neck and made quick work of tying it in a loose knot around my own neck.  I tried not to blush at the feeling of his warm fingers grazing the skin of my neck.  When he saw what was happening, John actually stopped walking, frozen in surprise.  It was only when Sherlock and I were several paces ahead of him that he managed to shake himself out of his shocked state and jog to catch up to us.  We exchanged glances, but neither of us said a word to the taller man who walked between us.

…

I hated to admit it but a flicker of hope had grown in my chest, dangerously close to where my heart beat.

Did Sherlock care about me?  Or was this another one of his games, an experiment to see how far he could go, how far he could push before I broke?

An ugly voice that sounded suspiciously like Moriarty spoke up in the depths of my mind, reminding me of how ordinary I was.  Sherlock was brilliant and beautiful and everything I could never be, but would always want.

The voice was right.  Sherlock couldn’t possibly care about me.  I was just seeing things that weren’t really there.

…

The final instance was last night.  We were chasing a suspected serial killer through the streets of London.  I found myself separated from John and Sherlock, without really knowing how it had happened.  I ran around a corner and skidded to a stop.

There he was.

Moriarty, standing close to our suspect, handing him a piece of paper and whispering in his ear.  I felt my heart skip a beat.  Nothing scared me more than Moriarty.  If Sherlock and John hadn’t saved me, I would be dead because of him.

Moriarty met my gaze and smiled, a sickly sweet, too innocent smile that made me shiver.  Before he could take a step towards me though, I heard a familiar shout.

“(Y/N)!”  Sherlock.

With a smirk, Moriarty pulled a gun from his pocket and held it close to his side.  My eyes widened in panic.  He meant to shoot Sherlock, I was sure of it.  I darted forward, planning to do…something to help Sherlock.

“(Y/N)!  No!”

A shot rang out. And I stopped, shock spreading through my body.

Moriarty stepped over the body of the suspected killer and walked away.  A few seconds later, Sherlock and John ran up to me, panic and fear clear on both their faces. Sherlock cupped my face in his hands, staring into my eyes, while John checked me for injuries.  The look in Sherlock’s eyes…it was unsettling to see so much fear in the usually unshakeable man’s gaze.

“John?”  His voice was quiet, but I could still hear the tremble in it.

“She’s alright, Sherlock.”

Sherlock nodded and finally released me from his gaze and his hold.

“Call Lestrade.  He’ll need to take care of that,” he said, nodding in the direction of the corpse that was growing cold in the pavement a few feet away.

I was starting shaking, the realization that I could have died finally catching up to me.  John took one look at me state and made a quick decision.

“We need to get her out of here.  Do you want to-?”

“I’ll get her home.”

John nodded and turned to call Greg about what had happened.

Sherlock placed a gently hand on my shoulder and started to lead me away.

He was quiet the entire way back to Baker Street.  Once we had reached our destination, he led me up the stairs and down a hall into his bedroom.  He sat me down on the bed and slowly knelt in from of me.

“Why did you do it?”

I looked at him in confusion.  “Do what?”

“Run at Moriarty like that, (Y/N).  You could have died.”

“Oh.  Well…I was afraid.  He had the gun and I was afraid he was going to kill you.”

“So you put yourself in danger?” He shook his head.  “I will never understand-”

“I know you won’t,” I said quietly, staring down at my hand where they were folded in my lap.   I heard him sigh and dared to peek at his face.  He looked like he was deep in thought.

“(Y/N)…” he said slowly.  “I could never forgive myself in something happened to you.”

I looked at his face properly, holding his gaze with my own.  His face was so serious, but I couldn’t help but smile.  I leaned forward, placing a hand on his shoulder to steady myself.  I brushed his cheek with my lips before pulling away to look at him again.

“Thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> REQUESTS ARE OPEN! You can send in your prompts to my tumblr @cate-lynne.


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